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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150995">Stone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, PWP</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuvok beds another Vulcan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tuvok/Vorik (Star Trek)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A particularly brutal thrust leaves Vorik gasping, chest arching forward under Tuvok’s greedy hands, head lolling back onto Tuvok’s shoulder and lashes fluttering closed before their eyes dark can connect. Tuvok already knows Vorik’s are dilated, his cheeks flushed, his lips permanently parted so he can rasp for air—and maybe that’s something Tuvok should make note of for his next training session. Maybe Vorik isn’t exercising well enough: an easy trap to fall into in the Delta Quadrant, where they’re all on duty <i>all the time.</i> A Vulcan should be able to handle it. A Vulcan should be able to withstand pure, raw, feral <i>animal</i> sex for hours on end without complaint, yet Vorik is slick with sweat and quivering, looking so wholly <i>broken</i>.</p><p>Maybe Tuvok should pull away for that. He figured a Vulcan crewmate was the only person aboard he could satisfy himself with, but he clearly miscalculated—Vorik is more than just another man of the same species. He’s younger, too, and perhaps that might mean he’s more eager, more ready to experiment outside of <i>pon farr</i>; he was certainly drawn to his commander’s quarters easily enough. But he’s also inexperienced, almost <i>naïve</i>. He isn’t delivering the swift, heady rhythm Tuvok craved, isn’t pushing back down into Tuvok’s lap and grinding down on Tuvok’s cock, simply bouncing with every thrust he’s given. His back shifts against Tuvok’s chest, hands trembling in Tuvok’s sheets, straight-cut bangs a mess across his forehead. Tuvok is the one that drives them—uses all his strength to pound up into his willing mate’s pliant channel, crushes Vorik tight against him, runs his fingers down the lean lines of Vorik’s pectorals and stomach. Vorik’s cock is rod-straight in the air, leaking and wet with a prelude of what’s to come, but it’s nothing compared to the slickness between his legs, streaming along his thighs. Tuvok spreads them wider with one hand and grazes his teeth along Vorik’s arched neck, wondering where to mark it.</p><p>Of course, he shouldn’t do that. Vorik’s not <i>really</i> his mate, merely a dalliance, a vain hope that both of them will survive their next <i>pon farr</i> without endangering their crew because they did this—released the overwhelming <i>fire</i> in little drips and drabs. Tuvok tells himself his wife would understand. Starfleet will tell her that he’s died, and she will do what’s best for her and their children, moving on as he would want her to. And he’s out here, never to wed again, but able to satiate himself so that he might serve his captain all the longer. It’s the only sensible action. In the heat of his lust, it’s easy to delude himself into thinking that. He lets himself bite down and suck an angry wet groove into Vorik’s neck, because sex is a natural thing, and so is the urge to claim a beautiful young prospect. Vorik howls like he loves it.</p><p>He shouldn’t. That’s another matter entirely. Tuvok explained himself so clearly. This is a necessary evil, full of so many contradictions, but the best in bad circumstances, and that’s <i>all</i> it is: a complete lack of other options. They’re not really <i>compatible.</i> Just alone. Tuvok hoped that turning Vorik around would aid that. He tries not to look at Vorik’s handsome face. Doesn’t listen much to the shuddering cadence of Vorik’s deep voice. Sometimes he closes his eyes and shames himself by trying to pretend it’s T’Pel, but Vorik is nothing like her. Smells nothing like her—all musky sweat and engine grease and nothing like the flowers of his garden. <i>Feels</i> nothing like her, all sharp angles and solid muscle and a broad, flat chest that Tuvok still smoothes his hand across. He rubs Vorik’s left nipple to hardness and tugs the little pebble at the center, soaking in Vorik’s scream. It’s unbecoming of a Vulcan to be so terribly <i>responsive</i>—there is no need for such a show in the privacy of Tuvok’s quarters. But he finds himself embarrassingly drawn to it nonetheless, and he gives the other nipple the same rough treatment just to feel Vorik clench tighter around him. </p><p>It’s all too much and not enough at the same time, stifling hot and so <i>good</i>, so deep, but not <i>right</i>, yet Tuvok grows more lost in it with every thrust. He goes faster, harder, knowing Vorik’s already struggling to take him but pushing anyway, so <i>hungry</i>, and thinking such a handsome, virile young thing should be able to <i>take it</i>, and he can’t believe he didn’t do this sooner, didn’t bend Vorik right over a console and fuck his pretty brains out the first time Tuvok strayed down to Engineering—</p><p>There must’ve been something on that planet they explored. Something in the atmosphere. Or in Neelix’s dinner in the messhall. Maybe even a bug in the replicator. It can’t be that Tuvok’s strict control has simply crumbled so quickly under the weight of one underling’s fleeting proposal in the turbolift. Can’t just be that Tuvok’s horribly <i>lonely</i> and Vorik is such a tempting morsel, so attractive, so dutiful, so <i>easy</i>. It can’t mean a thing. </p><p>Then Vorik moans, “<i>Tuvok</i>,” and the delusion’s over—Tuvok would wince if he weren’t so busy sliding into Vorik’s tight, molten cavern. </p><p>The guilt swarms in around him. He picks Vorik up by the waist and slams into him again anyway. This is <i>wrong</i>, and he knows it. Vorik should know it. Shouldn’t make this more than it is. Shouldn’t even try to forge a bond. Shouldn’t actually develop <i>feelings</i>, when they both know this is nothing more than traitorous hormones that should’ve been ignored. Vorik’s arm reaches back, clasping Tuvok’s side. His fingers brush over the spot where Tuvok’s heart is beating hard.</p><p>Tuvok hisses and comes, burying himself as deep inside Vorik’s glorious channel as he can. His head turns into Vorik’s neck, lips parting wide around Vorik’s shoulder, and he’s biting in another bruise before he can stop himself. This one is worthy of a <i>pon farr</i> session, bloody and fierce, but Vorik’s weak, fluttering breath denotes that he still likes it. But he seems to like <i>everything</i> Tuvok does to him. He gasps happily when Tuvok’s fingers wrap around his cock, and he licks his lips before moaning, “Commander, <i>please.</i>”</p><p>The reminder of rank is no help. But it’s too late for semantics now. Tuvok relaxes his tight grip on Vorik’s shoulder, simply sucking at the bruise while he pours himself into Vorik’s avid body and pumps out Vorik’s shaft. It doesn’t take long to end—Tuvok’s barely finished his own load when Vorik’s spilling too, splattering the sheets and Tuvok’s busy fingers. Vorik’s hoarse cry is lovely, the feeling of his convulsing channel even better. It would be so easy to stay hard and fuck him again, and <i>again</i>.</p><p>But Tuvok’s indulged his worst side enough for one night, and he picks Vorik up by the hard-cut hips, lifting him off Tuvok’s lap. He groans as Tuvok’s spent cock slips out of him, dragging a small pool in its wake. It’s a pity to be out in the open air again, but Tuvok can’t afford to stay embedded in such temptation.</p><p>The rest is for Vorik to do—they’re in Tuvok’s quarters, and Vorik will have to be the one to get up and go. Instead, he settles back in Tuvok’s lap, lounging there with Tuvok’s cock wedged up between his cheeks. He’s heavy, but not uncomfortable, not unwelcome, just unwholesome. Without looking back at Tuvok, he murmurs, “It would only be logical to stay until the morning. Returning to my own quarters at this late hour would certainly arouse suspicion.”</p><p>It would not. The private quarters around them are largely filled with humans, and humans tend to forget one another’s schedules. No one will question Vorik walking the halls during the delta shift, heading back in uniform, theoretically in pristine shape after he’s had a sonic shower. Except that there is always the chance <i>someone</i> will notice, and Vorik made his case with such confidence that it’s difficult to argue. </p><p>Tuvok should argue anyway. But he ascents, “Agreed,” and allows the madness to last a few hours more.</p>
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